Ghosts of Our Past
by SheilaTodd
Summary: A young constable is left for dead after being attacked by Judge Turpin. A barber witnesses the horrible events, and nurses the man back to health. Icheeny  First fanfic. Crits?


**I do not own the characters used in this fanfiction. They belong to Tim Burton. Also, this chapter involves rape. So if you don't like to read about rape, then don't read.**

It was a cold night in London. The air was thick with fog, and the sky was filled with smog and smoke from the chimneys of the flats. A single figure dressed in a black coat and black pants made his way quickly along the streets, careful to avoid anyone that seemed suspicious to him. It seemed, though, that the streets were mostly deserted. _This isn't like what I've heard of this city,_ he thought to himself as he fingers clutched tighter around the handle of his briefcase. His steps became swifter, their goal set on getting to where they needed to go.

In another part of the large city, a pie shop stood, with the name "Mrs. Lovett" on the sign above the door. Above that was another shop, one that was run by a barber. Most say he was the best in London, but he didn't feel that way. He liked to think of himself as just a simple barber with a gift. A figure moved slowly past the large window on the far side of the shop, holding something small and silver in his hand.

The figure was tall, and had pale, cold looking skin. His hair was wild and black, with a single white streak going from the front of his head and veering to the left. It was intimidating to some; it made him look dark and mysterious. He wore a white button-up shirt with slightly billowing sleeves and cuffs, and a black vest on top of it. His pants were black and pinstriped, and his feet were covered by black boots. His eyes were a dark, dark brown, almost black, even. They seemed like an endless, dark abyss, something that you would be afraid to get lost in.

His eyes shifted from his silver razor to the small window next to the vanity he was standing in front of, and narrowed when he saw a man in a black coat and pants walk out from under the tunnel used to get to Fleet Street. The man scowled and was about to move away from the window, until he saw another flash of black. He turned back to the window and watched as the young male stopped suddenly, his already pale features going other figure was hidden slightly in the fog, and it was hard to make it out. A few minutes later, after watching them, the new figure jumped at the young male, making the man raise an eyebrow in interest.

That interest soon became a mix of terror and anger as the older-looking man grabbed the young man's arms and held them behind his back, then bending him over and facing him toward the brick wall. The man widened his eyes and only watched as the older man yanked the younger male's trousers below his knees, exposing his skin to him. The older gentleman proceeded to undo his trousers as well, leaving the younger man thrash in the man's strong hold on his arms. Seconds later, a scream broke the silence, and the man slightly flinched as his hands clenched. The older man firmly held the young man's arms against his back, and thrust hard into him, only to make the poor lawman scream in pain once more, with tears running down his face. The older man let go of his arms, and grabbed ahold of his hips instead. Bruises already started to form within seconds of holding him, and the young man proceeded to thrash again, only gasp as the man continued to thrust.

Agonizing minutes went by until they stopped. The man pulled out of the young lawman, only to let him fall to the ground, exhausted and in pain. The man behind the window watched, his eyes holding an emotion that he had long forgotten until now; sympathy. The older man finally showed himself as the fog disappeared, and the barber's eyes flew wide open. Anger soon flared in his eyes as he recognized the man. It was the man that put him in prison for 15 years on false charge. The man that took his wife away from him as well as his infant daughter. His eyes slowly made their way back down to the tunnel below, only to see the Judge climb inside a nearby coach.

As soon as he disappeared from sight, he watched as the young man lay motionless on the cold cobblestoned ground, still exposed to the world. The barber heaved a sigh and looked to the ground. He couldn't just leave him out there in the open. He swiftly made his way out the door and down the wooden stairs. He supressed a shiver as the cold found it's way through to his skin. He gazed upon the sad sight of the young man and slowly made his way over to him. The man's eyes were closed, but he was breathing. His trousers were still down, but he didn't seem to care. The barber knelt down and tilted his head, scanning the man's features. The man was young, not even in his thirtys, it seemed. He had feathery raven black hair, and he could already tell that his eyes would be dark, just like his own.

The barber gently laid a hand on the young man's shoulder, and he jerked awake, gasping in what seemed like fear. His eyes were wide and he looked around wildly, his body trembling violently. His eyes landed on the barber's, and he swallowed, trying to inch away from him.

The barber's eyes softened and he murmured, "Easy does it.. I'm a friend."

Fearful eyes stared at him, still uncertain to trust him. He swallowed, and finally nodded, his movements slow and painful. He winced with every move he made, and the barber sighed, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand.

"If you need a place to stay, my shop is up there." he told him, nodding up to the door. "I can help you up there, if you need it." he added.

The lawman thought for a moment, then smiled softly, nodding. "I would be very grateful for that." he replied. His accent was different, the barber noticed. From the sound of it, he was American. The barber nodded and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping the weak American to his feet. The man winced in pain and leaned against the barber for support.

They managed very slowly to get to the top of the stairs, and the barber opened the door, making the bell above the door ring twice. He gently set the man on a bed in a separate room from the shop. He watched as the young man rubbed his shoulder and sighed. The barber swallowed and cleared his throat.

"I should check your wounds.. See if anything's severe." he told the young man, his eyes now wide again in fear. The barber shook his head and cooed, "Don't worry, I won't do what that devil did to you."

The young lawman was silent for a moment, but then nodded, slowly removing his jacket. He unbuttoned his white long-sleeve shirt and laid it across his jacket. The barber went into the bathroom and got a rag, along with some cool water in a bowl. He soaked the rag, and examined the nervous man's wounds on his back. Large, painful looking bruises were scattered across his back, and a few scratches from where the dispicable judge clawed at him. The barber clenched his teeth and shook his head as he gently brought the cold rag across his shoulders and back. The man winced at first, but immediately relaxed after that, enjoying the coolness that overcame him.

The barber glanced up from cleaning his wounds and watched as the lawman closed his eyes.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr...?" the man quieried, looking at him.

"Todd. Sweeney Todd. And you might be?" he asked, his eyes not leaving the wounds.

"Constable Ichabod Crane, at your service." he replied, nodding his head in greeting. Sweeney narrowed his eyes slightly, but he relaxed. Surely he didn't know about what he and the pie shop owner, Mrs. Lovett did? He shrugged it off, and stood as he finished. He went back into the bathroom and came back with cloth. He wrapped the cloth around the man's torso, where a bad scratch was.

Ichabod sighed in content, and smiled softly at Sweeney. "Thank you, again. You're very kind." he told the barber, who only snorted. "Think nothing of it." Sweeney replied.

They were silent for a few moments before Ichabod stood, slightly flinching. "Well.. I had better leave. I'm very grateful." he said, nodding his head.

Sweeney nodded back, and replied, "If you don't want to be attacked again, you had better stay here for the night. It's safer."

Ichabod swallowed, and thought for a moment. The judge terrified him now, and he _worked_ for him. He certainly did not want to be caught in that situation again. He looked up at the barber, and nodded. "That would be good." he replied.

"Good, you can have the bed, then." he said, which made Ichabod shake his head. "No no, I can't do that. You've been too kind already-" he was cut off by Sweeney, who glared. "I insist. Your condition is far too severe for you to be sleeping on the floor." he retorted. Ichabod looked down and nodded. "Alright, if you insist."

The moon managed to break through the smog and clouds, and shine dimly through the large window, giving the room a mysterious, yet beautiful glow. Sweeney stripped down to his white buttoned shirt, and rolled the sleeves up above his elbows. He stared out of the window, and closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to his past. To the time when he was a different man. Benjamin Barker, his name was. He had a family, and it's when he was truly happy. He clenched his fists as he gripped the window-sill. He didn't notice Ichaboad lay a hand on his shoulder, and he sighed as he looked up, his eyes clouded with thought.

"Mr. Todd, are you alright?" Ichabod asked, concern lingering in his soft voice. Sweeney nodded and glanced at him. "Yes, I'm fine." he lied, turning to face him.

The look that Ichabod had caught him by surprise. It was a mix of worry and innocence. Sweeney sighed, and walked past him, to the bedroom. He fixed a make-shift bed on the floor, complete with a sheet and extra comforter. Ichabod came in after him, and slowly laid on the bed, heaving an exhausted sigh as he did so. Sweeney laid on the floor, and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

After a few minutes of silence, Ichabod spoke, his sweet, soft voice sounding innocent with each word, "Well, goodnight, Mr. Todd. I want to thank you, again, for helping me." Sweeney only closed his eyes and sighed, only wondering if he had done the right thing.


End file.
